


Cover Your Tracks

by baeconandeggs, baekyall



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: Action, Dystopian/Post-Apocalyptic, Fluff, M/M, Secret Identity, Slight Violence, Strangers to Lovers, character harm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-25
Updated: 2020-05-25
Packaged: 2021-03-02 21:08:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,347
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24363319
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/baeconandeggs/pseuds/baeconandeggs, https://archiveofourown.org/users/baekyall/pseuds/baekyall
Summary: When a boat dweller by the name of Chanyeol—too young to remember soil beneath his feet—is thrown off his ship, he expects to drown, not to wash up on a strange shore and embark on his very own fairytale.
Relationships: (slight) Oh Sehun/Kim Junmyeon | Suho, Byun Baekhyun/Park Chanyeol
Comments: 46
Kudos: 115
Collections: BAE2020





	Cover Your Tracks

**Author's Note:**

> **Prompt:** BAE239  
>  **Disclaimer: baeconandeggs/the mods is/are not the author/s of this story. Authors will be credited and tagged after reveals.** The celebrities' names/images are merely borrowed and do not represent who the celebrities are in real life. No offense is intended towards them, their families or friends. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. No money is being made from this fictional work. No copyright infringement is intended.
> 
> **Author's Note:** Hi!! Thank you so much to the mods who took such care of me (and all the other writers ❤) during this amazing fest. It’s been a crazy journey with all that’s happening in the world, but it was a lovely distraction and passion project to keep coming back to! To my lovely prompter: I’m sorry if this isn’t as action as you wanted, but I tried to throw in a few swashbuckling moments + plot twists to keep you slightly entertained. Thank you for giving me a chance to write something this fun and unpredictable! (p.s. Thank you for the amazing prompt -- I stole a lot of it for the summary hehehe)
> 
> And, of course, thank you to all my friends and twitter mutuals who cheered me on along the way! All of you are amazing, and I hope you enjoy reading this! May you all be healthy during this crazy time in our lives! ❤❤❤

\-- 

The ground is warm. It’s too soft -- shifting and burning and sticking to his face like sweat. It’s an awful, foreign sensation, and he tries to move away from it, but his head is heavy -- so unbelievably heavy -- and the gritty ground has made its way into his mouth. 

He spits it out, angrily attempting to lift his head from its place on this odd substance. But it’s too hard to do right now, especially when there’s a voice pounding against his weary head, when he’s squinting with his eyes closed against the sun. 

_Too bright,_ he knows instinctively. _It’s sunny. The storm is over. Someone is yelling at me._

His legs are soaking wet, even as his cheek burns against the ground that holds him hostage. The waves won’t leave his lower half alone -- he hates the feeling, but he’s too weak to pull himself fully onboard the boat he must be hanging off. 

_I lived._

“Can you hear me?” 

The voice is like none he’s heard before. A boy, he can tell, but it doesn’t belong to anyone from his boat. He reflects silently on the boy’s accent and decides that, no, he’s not a crew member from a nearby trading partner’s ship, either. 

Curiosity and sunlight overpower him now, and Chanyeol decides he must force his eyes open and get himself on the deck fully. 

“Did you try to go for a swim?” the voice asks him more questions. Chanyeol wonders where the captain of this ship is -- if there even is one -- and why he’s being treated so haphazardly by someone who sounds younger than him. “The tide is awful today, just like it was predicted. Bad idea.” 

Chanyeol’s eyes are filled with whatever coats his face, and he feels salty tears join the ocean water on his cheeks. Through this yellow, painful haze he sees two brown eyes staring back at him. 

“Oh, your eyes, so red -- did you swim after drinking? You’re not from the village, are you?” 

“Pull me onboard,” Chanyeol garbles it out, a searing pain following each syllable. The corrosive seawater must’ve given his throat a run for his money. And his head -- and limbs, actually, now that he thinks about the ache that envelops him. 

“Oh, god. Come here.” 

A hand grabs each of his upper arms, dragging him across the deck rather smoothly. Too smoothly, Chayeol thinks, and then he’s pushed onto his back on this shifting surface that is certainly not a deck at all. Something is wrong. 

“A storm got me,” he tries to explain the situation, even as he stares at the blazing sun above him, as he watches white clouds float overhead. Everything in the sky is much too calm, and there’s an odd, high-pitched sound ravaging his ears. “Fell overboard. I must’ve --” 

“There was no storm, though.” 

The voice’s owner reveals himself now, blocking out the offputting sunshine and clear skies in favor of short black hair hanging over shapely eyebrows. Chanyeol feels rather dizzy right now, and he thinks it might have something to do with the way his eyes cross as he tries to place this face in his memory. 

“I’m Kim Jongin. My father’s a fisherman, so I came to check the nets, but you looked like you needed some help,” Jongin smiles down at him, and Chanyeol feels a tide in his stomach lurch forward. 

“I’m going to vomit.” 

And he does -- it’s all water, obviously a side effect of the way he’d so nearly drowned earlier. Instantly, his head feels a little clearer, even if his eyes still sting with yellow particles and his head spins with each pull of the wind. 

His right side aches with the strain of leaning, but at least Jongin’s hand is on that same shoulder to steady him. Staring down at his own sick and the way it mingles with the now-familiar substance he’s covered in, he realizes something is completely wrong. 

There is no deck below his hands, no waves surrounding them, no sail in sight. He is sitting completely stationary on a pile of what can only be sand -- he is sitting on a beach. 

“Where are we --” his hands shake as he clasps the sand in his left hand. It slinks past every finger, dancing down his palm and rejoining the pile under his form. It moves as easily as water the next time he grabs a fistful and watches it glide down his forearm and settle in the crook of his elbow. “Is there no ship? Is this land?” 

Jongin’s face is filled with a terror Chanyeol has only ever seen reserved for a near accident on the ship, for the moment when a large wave threatens to sweep across the deck and take a crew member with it. _Maybe this is heaven._

“I should take you to a doctor,” at this, Chanyeol becomes a mirror image of this stranger, bewilderment overtaking his features. 

A doctor, a hospital, something physical in the middle of a village that connects to roads and, possibly, cities -- maybe they had countless miles of farmland and flowers and roaming animals. 

He’d heard stories from elders of life before the water rose, but never thought he’d confirm it all for himself. 

“Hey, are you okay?” Jongin’s pulling him with all the strength that a fisherman’s apprentice must have, and Chanyeol feels himself going along with the motion in his shock. “Can you walk, you think?” 

“I’ll walk, I”ll walk,” he can feel his lips trembling and his words stumbling over themselves, but he focuses on the sounds he couldn’t understand before, on the bright sun reflected in the sand instead of his own muttering. “I’m walking.” 

Jongin loops his arms around his shoulders, sturdy and strong to combat Chanyeol’s almost-limp arms and disoriented gait. And they trudge through the sand, a feat that has the shipwrecked boy struggling, laughing, and coughing on the dryness in his throat. 

The grass is soft against his ankles, ticklish and soft and wet, but in a way water will never be -- it feels squishy and silly to step in, feels like a childhood Chanyeol had only ever heard tales of. He can smell what the elders had always talked about late in the evening; he thinks it might be the plants and trees breathing along with him. 

It’s just as he’s read. Waxy leaves on trees and too many flowers to count line their path. Chanyeol stares after the little white buds that grow in clusters and kiss his ankles as he passes, as gentle as a hand guiding him when learning to write characters. 

“What’s your name? Where do you live?” 

Chanyeol wants to answer, but he can’t form words properly right now, not when he stares at the brown bark only a foot away and remembers all the rhymes he’d sung as a child about climbing a willow tree, not when he imagines what the rough texture would feel like against his hands and loses himself in thought. 

Jongin doesn’t ask again. 

They stumble further down this dirt path, the sound of the soft earth against Chanyeol’s shoes sending a shiver down his spine. A blue bird, much smaller than any he’d ever seen, screams at him, and Chanyeol understands the high-pitched trill he hadn’t been able to recognize earlier. 

Birds are everywhere, plentiful here unlike the rare gulls he sees flying over the horizon in the early morning, and they are louder than he could’ve imagined. They sing to each other, chirping a tune that he wants to learn so desperately, and they fly and land on new trees with reckless abandon. Chanyeol is dizzy. 

The village is tiny and on the edge of the city, Jongin explains to no one in particular. The houses are enough to stop Chanyeol in his tracks. Each has a white exterior and curved black roof, their fronts aligned with trees and flowers and tables. Every house has something different about its decoration, from a small wind-chime to a herb garden, and Chanyeol can only imagine what each person is like, can only dream of owning one as a family. 

A woman tends a fire, and Chanyeol stares at her until she looks back at him, angry. His mind whirls with questions, trying to imagine what the smoke would smell like nestled in his hair after a long nap next to its warmth, and he decides to try it one day. He wonders if it smells different when it’s not mixed with salty air -- or if he’ll feel different when the waves don’t rock him to sleep. 

By the time they arrive at the doctor’s house (Jongin reassures him of this fact as he pushes the wooden door open, only one hand still clinging to Chanyeol’s shoulder), the world isn’t so shaky in Chanyeol’s view. 

In his alleviating daze, Chanyeol takes to staring out through a murky window to the right of the door, watching in awe as someone across the street sweeps through clouds of dust and dirt, particles so familiar yet so new. 

“I found him lying on the beach,” Jongin’s voice is quiet and far away -- Chanyeol only now realizes that he’s not being held up by the shorter boy anymore. “He asked if we were still on a boat, he thinks there was a storm, he --” 

Chanyeol turns and musters a weak smile toward the older man next to Jongin. His head aches with the overwhelming scent of herbs and tonics that this refocusing on reality brings him, and he scrunches his nose as the man walks forward. 

For a second, it seems like there’s recognition between them. The man studies his face, dragging his eyes slowly over each feature, and Chanyeol doesn’t miss the way his eyebrows are raised when their gazes meet again. The recognition in his eyes is gone as soon as it came, though, and Chanyeol tries to introduce himself finally, tries to make sense of all that’s happened today. 

“My name is --” 

“No need to tell me any details just yet,” he rests a hand on Chanyeol’s shoulder. It’s heavy and warm and not-at-all comforting, but Chanyeol leans into it anyway, feeling plagued with today’s discoveries and adventure. “You’re confused. Rest first. You’ll come back to your senses after some sleep and water.” 

He lets it happen. 

His legs and head are so heavy, so drenched with sea water and sweat and a lifetime’s worth of confusion, that he lies on the cot Jongin drags him to and allows them to take his clothes. 

Nearly naked, he falls asleep almost instantly, his entire body thrumming with the aftershock of adrenaline and shaking against the unbelievable things he’d seen. 

\-- 

_For the first time in his life, Chanyeol fears the water more than the unknown. Feeling the well-worn blisters on his hands tear with the sheer force of his hold on the rope, he wonders if the water growing closer is the last thing he will see._

_He knows the protocol for going overboard – he’s had it drilled into his head since he could understand language – and his body puts the instructions into motion almost unconsciously. His legs are straight and he’s taking the biggest breath he can manage, suffocated in the howling of the wind and the cold spray from the waves that force his eyes closed._

_There is no need to wonder if someone will call for him anymore, as he won’t be able to hear it no matter how his shipmates scream his name. He’s sucked under the water with a familiar force, though this time it’s unwilling and painful and terrifying._

_Sight and sound make no sense anymore. Everything is muddled, each thought sopping wet, every movement drenched._

_It’s frigid, even colder than he’d been expecting, and he involuntarily sucks in a breath in this moment of shock; his entire world tastes of salt. Even with his eyes closed, he knows he is alone in this vast sea of dark blue, that he will not be visible from the boat unless he makes his way back to the surface. So he tries, fighting against the lashing currents and his own panic, to breathe again._

_As he resurfaces, he coughs against the salty water and white foam, and wishes he could see anything but the rolling black waves swirling around him. He breathes deep once, warily, and the air does little to help him. If anything, he feels colder with the wind whipping in his face, and the relief of breathing is out of his grasp in less than a second when the undercurrent claims him once again._

_He’ll join the infinity of the water soon enough; he only hopes it won’t always be this cold._

He wakes suddenly, gasping for air and thrashing against the scratchy blanket that covers him. The world spins against his better judgement, and it takes an intense staring contest with the fireplace in the corner of the room for him to realize he is fully awake now. The tiled flooring and chipping pale yellow paint are _real,_ and he is sitting on a doctor’s cot in a village that has nothing but land under it. 

A fisherman’s son had come to save him, had pulled him from the water and dragged him back to safety. He is no longer a boat-dweller begging for stories of life before the flood waters got too high. 

The wind moves softly outside, rattling the window behind him and, as Chanyeol turns to stare at the pink sunset settling over treetops, he knows he’s not a pitiful boy whose parents hadn’t made it to an available ship before it all happened, raised among others just like him, floating in the middle of the endless blue ocean anymore. 

There are plain brown pants and a white shirt left next to his pillow, an offering from the doctor or Jongin, Chanyeol can’t be sure -- but he stands with shaky legs and puts them on anyway. He learns quickly that he hates the feeling of this floor on his feet and chooses to slip on his still-drying shoes instead. 

Looking for Jongin, he ventures around the small room more, studying the books and paintings on the wall above the doctor’s desk, feeling each texture for himself as if he’ll never have the chance again. Maybe he needs to eat and drink, or maybe he is still reeling from all that’s happened, but his fingers can’t help but shake with every item he touches. 

“You’ve arrived,” the doctor can barely be heard, but Chanyeol can make out what he says if he squints and lets his hand settle on the desk rather than focus on the leather-bound pages in front of him. “I think we have --” 

Chanyeol steps forward to search for the source of the voices, still confused by the layout of this house1, eyes searching yellow walls for any indication of an additional room. His own shuffling keeps him from hearing the doctor’s words, and he regrets wearing shoes indoors, no matter how badly he despises that new texture. 

“There is no doubt, sir. I’ve seen the posters, and he truly matches the description. I had the feeling something was odd, but the doctor confirmed my suspicions.” 

It’s Jongin’s voice, but it comes from a room he’s only just now found -- the door is dark blue and tightly shut, partially hidden behind a curtain near the cot he’d used. It’s secretive and odd; Chanyeol’s heart shakes along with his hands. 

“And he washed ashore, you say?” 

This new voice that enters is young, despite his authoritative tone. The conversation turns to mumbling, and Chanyeol lurches forward to hear what they say about him, about the posters. 

“I’ll see for myself. Is he in the main room? Or should I go out the back door again?” 

He stumbles back away from the door in fear, unaware of why his heart shakes so much at those words. The tone, the voice, the posters -- it seems as though something bad is happening, as though maybe he shouldn’t have been pulled from the water after all. 

His suspicions are confirmed when the blue door opens abruptly, revealing Jongin, the doctor, and a third man who looks far too young to be so intimidating. His hair is black and shiny, though most of it is hidden by a dark purple cap with an embroidered moon at its front. His handsome features are delicate and polished, even as they focus on him with an unparalleled intensity, even as Chanyeol steps falter backwards in hopes of avoiding that look. 

He wears what can only be a military uniform, dark purple and gold lapels cinched at the waist with a scabbard, his long boots and gloves a charcoal black. It’s all a stark contrast against his tan skin and pink lips, and Chanyeol has never felt more on edge, more seen, than in this moment. 

“Are you well?” 

His voice is still commanding, but Chanyeol notices a softer tone to now that he’s closer. He swallows the lump in his throat as he ceases his movements, stilled by the presence of this unnerving man. 

“Who are you?” 

“Captain Byun of the royal guard. I’ve come to retrieve you.” 

Chanyeol cannot believe what he’s hearing. In an instant, it seems as though the world is spinning once again, for he’s out of place and set free in the worst possible way. He’d thought this was a gift from something higher, that he was allowed to live and wash up on this coast as a blessing, but looking into Captain Byun’s eyes, he sees that something has gone terribly wrong after all. 

They think he is someone else entirely. A murderer, a robber, or maybe even a runaway -- he’s not sure. 

He’s frozen in place, fearful and eyeing the front door as surreptitiously as he can. It might still be too obvious. 

The guard moves forward, a full head shorter when standing directly before him, and Chanyeol flinches as his arm winds around Chanyeol’s to grab something from the table behind him. 

“Am I wrong to assume this is you?” his voice is eerily pleasant when it’s this close to Chanyeol, and he feels like he needs to jump away and cower in the corner, if only to be as far away from the confusing energy this man exudes. 

The poster is shoved in his face by gloved hands, the creasing noise of the paper as loud as thunder in Chanyeol’s ears. This cacophony accompanies the pounding of his heart, nerves on end and stomach rolling to his anxiety-induced orchestra. 

His big eyes, large ears, and same lips in a half smile -- and the word _Missing_ printed in bold carefully placed above his hair. It’s a painting, but it’s accurate. Too accurate for Chanyeol’s liking, as it points out the arch of his eyebrows and the angle of his nose uncomfortably well. 

He reads on, thoughts tripping over themselves as he tries to think of a way to avoid whatever bad fate must be destined for him. 

_Crown Prince Sangho has not been seen since early in the morning on the 2nd of April. It is believed he went toward the eastern countryside. Wanted alive, unharmed. Reward of 1 million won._

“Your highness, I’ve come to take you back home.” 

“This isn’t me. I’ve been on a boat until this afternoon, when I fell overboard during an awful thunderstorm. The fisherman’s son, Jongin -- he found me on the beach, he will tell you I’m not lying. I --” 

“He’s been confused all day,” Jongin speaks up, and Chanyeol feels utterly betrayed despite only knowing him for a day. “Telling me stories like that.” 

All faith in the fisherman’s son is gone from him instantly, fear clawing its way through his weakened body. 

“I thought he was a -- a drunkard at first, but the more I looked, the more I recognized him.” 

There is silence. Chanyeol wants nothing more than to stagger his way back to the beach, to lie back down on that warm sand, and wait for someone kinder to find him. This is all a mistake. 

“My name is not Sangho, I am not a prince, I -- I’ve never been here before,” Chanyeol stutters at the absurdity of it all, and Captain Byun’s eyes flitter across his face at a dangerous speed. “I washed up after an _accident,_ I promise -- this is a mistake, sir, please. The storm was violent and I was thrown from my ship. Please believe me.” 

“There was no such storm. Not on any of our coasts, much less this one.” 

Chanyeol wants to scream; this is so _frustrating._ His body is still far too weak to make any sort of run for it -- he knows this now -- and the royal guard’s proximity has him boiling with fear, anger, excitement. 

“Where I come from, there is no land, no coasts -- no know-it-all guards who will not let me _speak_ and explain myself,” he knows this might be a mistake, for the beautifully carved scabbard on Byun’s hip speaks of his sword-fighting prowess and, definitely, an acute ability to defend his honor. “I just -- I am not your crown prince. My name is Chanyeol, not Sangho, and I’ve never seen a royal guard in my life.” 

This sparks something new in the guard’s expression -- amusement. The almost-blank stare he aims at Chanyeol does little to mask his quivering lip and hidden laughter. 

“Please don’t laugh. I’m not confused. I’m not from this land at all. I have lived on a ship my entire life.” 

“You are far too confused, your highness,” he chuckles outwardly, a nice sound, and Chanyeol is frozen in place as his gloved hand finds the crook of his elbow to hold it firmly. His smile is annoyingly pretty, white teeth and lips curved solely where they meet his cheeks. “We should head toward the palace to get you checked out. It will do you some good. And perhaps you will remember me.” 

Chanyeol wants to argue and cry out that he is _not_ their prince, that Jongin is a boldfaced liar who turned him in rather than caring for him, that he needs some food and water soon or he will be sick on the floor. 

Instead, he thinks of the stories he’d read growing up, of the tales the elders told of commanding rulers and decadent fantasies. Princes live however they please, with countless suitors and endless riches, gardens full of flowers he’s never seen and rooms of exotic animals that always felt like myths. 

_Maybe this is all a dream,_ he wonders. _Maybe I did drown, and the only thing beyond death is another chance at life._

If he’s going to be stuck here, he should live in luxury for at least one night, he reasons -- especially when this royal guard looks at him so expectantly, when he knows there is a feast waiting for him at the palace. 

“I am not the prince, but if you insist, I will go,” Chanyeol focuses on the way the royal guard’s hand squeezes his elbow (one, two, three times) in agreement. It makes him feel less dizzy but does little to help the pounding in his head. “You’ll realize your mistake soon enough.” 

“Of course, your highness. I’m sure I will.” 

Smiling again, Captain Byun turns away to speak to Jongin and the doctor in a low, formal voice. 

“Your reward will be delivered diligently. Expect a courier from the palace city in the next few days. Thank you.” 

He bows, body still too close to Chanyeol’s, and Chanyeol follows him down instinctively, head tilted and hands held together -- he is parallel with the guard. 

“Oh, your highness, don’t bow --” the doctor rushes forward to prop his head back up. “No need for that from our crown prince.” 

Tired, he nods slowly at the suggestion and stands up straight. The three sets of eyes on him are burning, curious, and he wonders if they are all believing his bizarre story a little more now. 

“Your highness, the carriage is outside,” the guard’s voice breaks the silence, and Chanyeol is oddly grateful. “We should probably hurry.” 

Captain Byun uses that same grip on his elbow to pull him toward the door and, if Chanyeol wasn’t so dearly sure that he was not a royal, he’d question this behavior more -- is there no such thing as space between a guard and a prince in this world? 

And he’s outside once again, the unfamiliar smell of evening meals mixed with earthen dew forcing his nose to scrunch in protest. It almost smells nice, he thinks, but there is something humid and wet that comes with it, something that he recognizes naturally as a forewarning. 

“It will rain tonight,” says another man in the same purple garb. He is much taller than Baekhyun, and broader too -- he speaks to a third royal guard member, unaware of the pair exiting the doctor’s house. Chanyeol can barely hear him as he kicks the ground near the dark wooden carriage at the end of the path. 

“The roads will be shitty, then. I don’t know where Baekhyun expects us to camp, especially with _him_ in tow, but I know we won’t sleep well.” 

He has figured two things out: that smell was one of rain in the air, and the other two guards don’t seem as fond of the prince as Captain Byun -- oh, Baekhyun -- is. He trails after Baekhyun down the path, somewhat oriented with this evening air and ground. 

“Hey!” Baekhyun’s voice is meaner when he speaks to his comrades. Chanyeol quickens his pace in order to stay by his side, fearing both Baekhyun and the absence of Baekhyun. “Ready the carriage.” 

They jump to work, all hostility forgone in the presence of Baekhyun’s commanding words and fast steps. Each guard rushes to some part of the carriage -- the taller focuses on the twin gray horses in front, and the shorter checks the tall wheels carefully. 

The carriage is definitely not what Chanyeol had envisioned -- wooden and stress-worn with no gold or silk adorning it at all. The luxury he’d so wanted to see is undeniably absent, but Baekhyun’s hand is on his arm again, hoisting him in to sit on a green pillow in the cab, so it is all forgotten for a fleeting moment. 

The tall guard is back, face close to the small, open window to Chanyeol’s left -- and he is handsome, even though his thick, furrowed eyebrows and pinched expression are more intimidating than Baekhyun. Chanyeol stares at him, wordless, and wonders if he should explain himself to this man, too. 

“Wook, up.” 

The tall guard says it with such authority that Chanyeol starts to move himself to stand in this cramped wooden box, despite knowing that neither of his current identities are named Wook. Within a second of the tall guard’s command, there is a large dog bounding in from the right side of the carriage and sniffing all over him, white fur smelly and paws coated with mud. 

“Oh!” 

He’d seen dogs before -- people had brought them on the ships when it first happened, their pets important enough to make the cut when they packed their entire lives to flee from rising flood water and the imminent erasure of their land. 

But he’d never _held_ one, never had one so wholly on top of him, knocking the breath out of his lungs and panting into his ear. He struggles against Wook’s weight, laughing at the whining noise the dog makes in return as it falls back to the floor of the carriage and circles his legs. 

Baekhyun is next to him now, he realizes suddenly. When he turns to see the guard removing his purple cap and coat, emblems and badges gleaming in the setting sunset, he tries to think of how he _should_ be feeling right now. He thinks he’s probably not feeling the right way. 

“The other guards?” Chanyeol asks, looking around for the tall one who’d only just been outside, wondering after the smaller who’d complained so loudly about the weather minutes before. 

Anything to distract from the pretty way sunset colors settle in Baekhyun’s eyes and reflect off his shined pendants. 

“They’ll drive for the night. Rest up, your highness.” 

He tries his best to do just that. 

They settle as the carriage starts its slow lurch forward into the night. Wook finds a way to sprawl out across the entire width of the carriage, and Baekhyun sets to furiously writing in a small black notebook on his side of their shared space. How he can see in the fading sunlight is a mystery to Chanyeol -- another mystery is what he could be smiling at in the silent moments between hurried scribbles. 

Chanyeol lets the day's events soak into him once again, the wonder of it all starting to fade away; now he’s filled with only uncertainty. It’s absurd to think he’s being taken to a palace, mistaken for a prince, with a large dog and three men at his service. It’s scary to think that this morning he’d awoken in his bunk, familiar salt in the air, and did his chores on deck while breakfast was cooking. 

Perhaps it’s better to not think of the ship and its differences to land, after all -- it makes him ache. Instead, he focuses on the similarities. The night is colder than day on land too, and the wind howls outside as drops collide with the carriage, the same sound as a storm hitting the deck. 

His arm is wet. Scrambling to shut the window and preserve whatever princely air Baekhyun might’ve thought he possessed, he ignores the laugh that drifts from Baekhyun’s side of the carriage. He blames his exhaustion and shock for the delayed response, for the warmth in his chest. 

He hopes the guards outside have something to cover their heads and keep them warm -- the thought reminds him that he’s not the prince they all think he is (in all the stories, the princes had been greedy and selfish, kind only to the women they wanted to woo.) It’s comforting, somehow. 

It feels selfish to allow them to believe their lies so easily, but he knows they will not let him leave, that it is better to be surrounded by men with swords and quick minds than by an endless, raging ocean. 

The day has been too long, so he will ask and tell more when the sun is shining through tree branches once again. 

He sleeps sitting up in the carriage, dreaming of flowers and mountains and embroidered purple caps. 

\-- 

The world smells like smoke and roasting meat. His stomach wakes him before anything else, acutely empty and suffering from a stabbing pain he’d almost grown used to. _Food,_ he thinks. _The rain is gone, and there is food._

All is still -- the world doesn’t rock with the waves or jostle with bumps in the road. They’re stopped somewhere, he knows, and when he squints up through the foggy window, the world is a light blue. 

“We need to start taking turns being inside the carriage -- or let us stay at an inn for the night every so often. I was soaked,” someone is nagging. “I’ll start to feel like a beggar.” 

Chanyeol tries not to move too much as he sits up from his messy, slouched slumber in the cab of the carriage -- the side door is open, so he inches toward it to peek at the group of guards. 

The tallest guard is in his white undergarments, uniform hanging from a tree branch only a few feet away, and the complainer -- the medium height guard, apparently -- fakes an exaggerated shiver. 

Wook and Baekhyun sit together against a tree, comfortably intertwined and both looking sleepy. Chanyeol wants to coo at the sight, but then Baekhyun’s voice pierces the quiet morning air, and he’s compelled to listen to each syllable. 

“That’s dangerous. An inn will get him recognized, and then we’ll have people to fight and curious citizens to deal with,” he shakes his head and extends an open palm out, asking for a bite from what’s cooking over the fire. “We won’t stay anywhere for more than a day.” 

“Then, turns?” the tallest speaks up; his shiver is genuine. 

“Maybe,” Baekhyun is noncommittal, but he speaks easily. “Tomorrow I’ll make one of you go into town and buy more food since there’s four of us now. Sehun, you move quieter, but Junmyeon knows how to haggle. I’ll send Jun first.” 

Finally, he knows their names -- it’s a relief to have to stop cataloguing their heights and voices as strangers in his mind, to finally understand the dynamic between the guards. Baekhyun is the captain, obviously their leader, while Sehun and Junmyeon are his closely trusted subordinates. 

Sehun laughs as he says it: “ _Temporarily_ four. We don’t get to keep him, hyung.” 

Chanyeol can’t tell if it’s the fact that he’s never had much human contact (he’d been raised alongside others his age, but none had clung to his side since they’d started working as crew on the ship years ago) or if Baekhyun is naturally magnetic, but he wants to join him in leaning against the tree, wants Wook to curl around them as their shoulders brush. 

He kind of likes the thought of someone wanting to keep him. 

It’s silly, he knows, but Baekhyun looks at him like he’s never been looked at before, like there’s recognition beyond yesterday, like there could be something beneath the surface -- _oh._ Baekhyun must have affection for the prince, not him. He decides to ignore the way that realization stings, and instead focus on the way his body begs for food. 

“Hey, hey, I don’t like what you’re saying. I never said --” 

Baekhyun stops speaking when Chanyeol decides to leave the carriage, jumping down with wobbly legs. He waves at the guards, focusing on their silhouettes in the sunlight. 

“May I have some of your breakfast?” 

Sehun jumps up to clothe himself, and Junmyeon stands, too -- Baekhyun follows. They all bow to him, a little one, just enough to be acknowledging, and their voices echo in harmony when they greet him. 

“Good morning, your highness.” 

“Oh, don’t do --” Chanyeol shakes his hands against the action. “I’m not the prince. I’ve told B - Captain Byun. I’ve told him that I’m not Sangho. I’m Chanyeol. You don’t need to bow and greet me, just --” 

They ignore him; only Wook’s eyes remain focused on him, tail going haywire at the appearance of another human he recognizes. 

He’s ushered only a moment later to sit on a jacket around the fire, and before he can finish his explanation or repeat his question about food, there are chunks of meat and potatoes thrust toward him by Junmyeon. 

“Eat, your highness,” Baekhyun nods to him as he takes his seat once again. He’s almost laughing, a contented grin pulling up on one side -- and Chanyeol knows it is at his expense. 

It tastes like nothing he’s eaten before. The vegetables brought and cultivated on ships had never tasted like these do; fish cannot compare with whatever meat he’s eating right now. He tries to not be disgusting and ravenous when he eats, but Junmyeon’s glances tell him that he’s scarfing down the food just as loudly as he fears. 

Breakfast passes with the sounds of birds above them, with Sehun grimacing against his still-damp clothes, with Junmyeon silently observing a comically large map. There’s writing everywhere on it, but the guard flicks his wrist to hide its contents everytime Chanyeol attempts to look closer. 

They think of him as a spoiled royal who needs not know of their route or plans. It takes only a minute of silence for Chanyeol to confirm they view him as Crown Prince Sangho -- especially Baekhyun, with the way he stares across the campfire the entire meal. 

He decides to not care right now. All that truly matters is the food in his hands and the scalding tea Junmyeon offers him in a tiny tin cup as he finishes his third serving. It’s the most luxurious thing Chanyeol could’ve imagined right now, so he smiles and watches tiny animals skitter between tree branches while his stomach rolls with this sudden fullness. 

“Why is the carriage so shabby? My neck hurts from sleeping in there, and there’s not even enough room for us all to sleep comfortably.” 

Chanyeol wants them to confide in him the dangers that linger at inns, wants to feel like they’ll tell him the important things about their trip. Sehun’s eyebrows raise, surprised, and Baekhyun’s head snaps to glare at him in a way that surely will scare the taller guard into silence. 

“If you wanted to assassinate a prince, would you look for a plain wooden carriage or one covered in expensive colors and patterns? It’s for protection, your highness,” Baekhyun answers before Sehun can speak, cutting him off. 

It doesn’t stop him, though. 

“For a moment, you really did seem like a prince, but then you’re back to being -- what was your name again? What’d you say it was?” Sehun is earnest; Baekhyun looks like he’ll stand up and smack him at any moment. “Oh! Chanyeol! You seemed like a commoner again. You must’ve really been in an accident.” 

It’s only funny because Chanyeol _knows_ he’s not actually a concussed prince. He nods along, happy to have at least one person possibly believing him and his story, a laugh stuck in his throat as he watches Baekhyun hurry to pack up the campsite. 

“Don’t talk like that,” Baekhyun scolds Sehun as he stomps out the fire. 

He can’t giggle, no matter how hard he tries, because Baekhyun’s eyes keep moving -- focused on him, scanning the dying flames, checking their surroundings, staring directly at him once again. Wook’s job as a watchdog might be at risk if Baekhyun keeps this up; Chanyeol burns inside out. 

“We have a ways to go today if we’re going to make it to the palace by the end of the week,” Junmyeon supplies this information without being asked, obviously trying to get Sehun moving along with Baekhyun’s cleanup plan. “Make sure the horses are ready.” 

Chanyeol follows their guidance, letting himself be led back to the carriage and onto his trusted green cushion. Wook doesn’t join him inside this time -- though he does bark and trot around the perimeter of the cab, giving the tips of Chanyeol’s fingers little licks as he passes. 

Chanyeol stares at Baekhyun’s rucksack opposite him as Wook does another round, well aware that his notebook is in there, that there could be something scary like poison or a dagger, too. Maybe there’s only clothes. 

“I’ll get a notebook to keep track of the flowers and trees,” he says it to Wook, or maybe himself. “In case I ever go back. I’ll have pictures.” 

The sun is high in the sky now, its beams cutting through the windows and shades in the carriage, leaving Chanyeol squinting as he tries to spy on the guards outside. 

With no warning, Baekhyun is back in his view, appearing in the doorway as he finishes buttoning his uniform fully. Chanyeol jumps at the sudden appearance, unreasonably excited to see that Baekhyun lingers for more than a moment. 

“I’m sorry about Sehun. He doesn’t mean to make you feel bad.” 

Chanyeol stares back. He doesn’t know what to say when Baekhyun is leaning into the cab secretly to apologize on someone else’s behalf, when he shines in the sunlight and interacts with Chanyeol with no formalities. 

“I’ll be walking alongside, since we’ll be taking it slow for a while. Call if you need me.” 

He leans further in to grab for his bag, and Chanyeol hates the way he breathes in suddenly at the movement, at the way Baekhyun pauses to acknowledge the pause in their interaction. He’s gone the next second, shutting the door and waving a gloved hand gently. 

Chanyeol almost wishes he were the crown prince Baekhyun seems so fond of. 

\-- 

Each day, they wake up as the sun rises to eat around the fire. Sometimes Chanyeol rises on his own and listens to the guards’ murmurs for minutes before he actually moves. Other times Sehun’s large hands shake him as carefully as possible, voice accidentally loud as he informs Chanyeol of the breakfast they’ve prepared for him. 

It is almost normal, spare the fact that Chanyeol constantly tells them of his real identity, sharing tiny stories of the ship and life on it -- and they all stare back at him, confused. Calling him crazy would be far too rude to a royal, so they stay quiet instead, even though Chanyeol feels Baekhyun’s incredulous gaze follow him with judgement and wonder. 

Even though he’s already figured it out, they won’t tell him their names (“Captain Byun, Lieutenant Oh, and Lieutenant Kim. There’s no need to bother you with details, your highness. Focus on recovering your memory.”) They won’t let him see the map. They won’t let him walk alongside the carriage, even if Wook sticks to his side. He is suffocated. 

It seems like the palace is much farther away than Chanyeol had anticipated -- they don’t reach it by the end of the week after all. 

“There are delays because a bridge collapsed,” Junmyeon had told him as they sat in the carriage. He’d searched for any trace of doubt or anger in Chanyeol, continuing when none was detected. “We will have to go around to the other bridge. It will add a few days to the trip.” 

Chanyeol couldn’t argue against it; it’s not like he’d ever been here, like he’d ever had the chance to study the map, like they’d listen to their concussed, confused prince for more than a minute, anyway. 

Baekhyun stills when Chanyeol brings up the bridge later that same evening; the absence of breathing and movement in the carriage is louder than even the singing crickets outside. It seems he doesn’t know of the destruction Junmyeon had mentioned, as if he’s caught off guard too -- Chanyeol can’t be sure how this should make him feel. 

“Odd,” Baekhyun muses, and his eyes do that now-familiar searching thing all over Chanyeol’s face, focusing on his nose and lips for seconds too long. “I suppose we’ll go to the bridge by the mountains, then.” 

He goes back to writing in his notebook once again, and Chanyeol watches his hands instead of thinking of all the inconsistent things the guards say, instead of analyzing the way Baekhyun trips over formalities and botches protocol. 

“I’m not the prince, you know,” Chanyeol whispers it because, god, it feels like he has to. “My name is Chanyeol. You’re making a mistake by taking me to the palace. I didn’t want to fight you that day. I wanted to be selfish for a day and go live in luxury. But I’m not him.” 

Baekhyun takes off his cap, letting black hair flop in front of his face, and stretches. He acts casual, but Chanyeol can see the way his gaze trembles. 

“You don’t have to believe me. I just wanted to remind you.” 

He thinks Baekhyun’s eyes still look at him the same way, knowing and almost gentle, so it’s clear the guard isn’t really listening to him, after all. If he’d believed he wasn’t the prince, there would be no upturn on Baekhyun’s lips as he tucks his notebook back in his bag. 

\-- 

Sehun and Junmyeon dance by the fire when they think no one is watching. Their hands are connected and they spin each other around with reckless abandon, violent and childlike. Baekhyun had gone to bathe in the nearby lake, so the other guards are free to be anything but supervised. 

Chanyeol looks through the window of the carriage and watches them laugh loudly, stares as they share sips from a tiny flask and argue over something small and insignificant rather loudly. This isn’t a very professional thing for his guards to do, he know this, but then Sehun is cackling at Junmyeon’s overdramatic leap over the fire, and it doesn’t matter. 

He wonders how it feels to be so comfortable with someone, to feel held and seen and known so easily. 

Watching for a minute longer, he can’t help but think of himself in their shoes, cheeks red with exertion and body tingling with proximity to someone else. He wants it. 

He wants to behave like an idiot in the woods with them, even if sometimes he feels like they’re all lying to him, making fun of him, like he’s the only one not in on a prank. 

He is sitting alone on his green cushion, unsure if he’s allowed to break their togetherness by intruding. A prince wouldn’t, after all, but he’s made it clear they’re all wrong -- he decides he will befriend these guards whether they want him or not. 

Chanyeol is about to step down from the carriage to tentatively ask for a sip of their liquor, to tell more stories and make them believe him, but he’s stopped by an unsettling noise. 

Growling -- Wook sounds feral, a deep noise emitting from the back of the dog’s throat. Chanyeol is frozen in place at the noise, only stuttering back to life when it turns from territorial snarls to loud, angry barking. 

“Wook,” Chanyeol whispers it as gently as he can, cautious since he can’t actually see the dog. Too scared to put his feet on the ground, he stays stuck in the carriage doorway, shaking. “Wook, what’s wrong?” 

Sehun and Junmyeon are eerily silent as well. They’re not laughing anymore -- Sehun curses under his breath, and Chanyeol can hear both of them scrambling to find something in their bags. _Weapons, he thinks._ They’re grabbing weapons. 

The entire world is quiet as Wook continues his barks and yaps, as the noises grow louder and closer -- as heavy footsteps join the sounds. Whoever it is, they’re sprinting from behind the carriage. 

The sound of rustling leaves and cracking tree branches has become a new normal for Chanyeol, but this sudden overload of noise is frightening. His mind flashes with thunder and lightning, adrenaline pumping as it had that afternoon he’d resigned himself to drowning -- it’s coming back too quickly. 

A boy runs in front of him then -- unfamiliar and young with something sparkling in his hand. A _stranger_ is running through their campsite and headed toward the pair of guards he’d just been jealous of; it sounds made up, even as he watches it unfold. 

Every expletive he knows is running through his mind, and he lets his feet finally meet the earth under him, aching for a better look at what’s happening. 

Wook dashes in front of him then, clearly in pursuit of this intruder, and he spins to a stop in front of the fire in order to hunch down and bare his teeth. He’s in between the stranger and the guards, acting as a protective barrier. Chanyeol is scared to watch as all three draw weapons -- the man, a dagger, and the guards, their swords. 

The fight is brief -- a few jabs either way, yelling and barking and a burning fire outlining them against the dusk skyline -- and the man screams when he’s hit by the sword Sehun wields. Chanyeol feels his blood run cold as he watches the man spin on his heel to retreat, his arm spilling red everywhere he steps. 

They make eye contact as he runs toward the carriage. First, it’d been the frothing sea under him, but now he stares another human in the eye and hopes for mercy in those wide eyes, in that injured arm and wide step. 

_Why could they not restrain him on sight? Why has he come to me when two capable guards are only steps away? Why did their stances look so uncomfortable and improper, so unlike what a guard should be?_

This stranger staggers toward a dumbfounded, unarmed Chanyeol, and he stumbles back against the carriage and toward the trees far beyond. 

Wook jumps for the man’s leg and drags him down before he can reach the Chanyeol at all. The horses rear and neigh, startled and ready to run into the darkness -- it’s completely chaotic, a mixture of the boy’s screams and Chanyeol’s own panicked noises as he flees toward the trees. 

He can’t see Junmyeon or Sehun in the firelight anymore, not when he’s ran past the edge of the woods in such a hurry that he feels his heartbeat behind his eyes. Wook’s growls are still echoing, deafening, but they’re secondary to his own labored breathing and the boy’s pitiful, pained moans. 

He wants whatever this is to be over. 

“Wook, stop.” 

The growls subside for one moment at the sound of Baekhyun’s stern voice. Chanyeol moves forward again, naturally drawn away from the dark trees at the sound of it. _Captain Byun Baekhyun._

Something in Baekhyun’s voice and movements make Chanyeol associate him with safety, with waking up clueless in a doctor’s house, with hands holding him easily and confidently. Something about Baekhyun reminds him of home -- a real one, not the ship, not the shore he’d washed upon, not the carriage. He is a warm fire in a cottage, an open window, the sound of ink scratching into paper, and cooking breakfast before the sun is up. 

“Get lost, or I’ll send the dog after you again,” Baekhyun threatens it as Chanyeol comes back in view of the campsite. He has Wook by the scruff of his neck and is standing over the boy, purple uniform haphazardly put back together, wet hair plastered to his forehead. “You’re young, but you’re not stupid. Go.” 

Sehun and Junmyeon watch, faces just as shocked as Chanyeol’s, as the boy clambers to his feet -- face and arms gushing red. Wook had really gotten him, even more than the guards were able to, and it’s disgusting to process. Chanyeol feels a little queasy. 

They watch as the boy limps away, dejected and injured -- and the silence is too tense. 

“Why would you let him go?” Junmyeon is furious, if his sharp tone and volume are any indication. “He was trying to steal the carriage or food, or -- he’s seen us! Send Wook after him. Now.” 

“If you’re so eager to kill him, why didn’t you do it? None of those injuries were from either of you. What the fuck were you doing?” Baekhyun is shaking visibly, anger almost boiling over, and he drops Wook back to his feet with a heaving sigh. “He was a teenager. He’s stupid and never committed a crime before, I can tell you that. I didn’t want to kill him.” 

“It was sudden, and he --” 

“I don’t want excuses,” Baekhyun cuts them off. Chanyeol’s heart thrums with anxiety and fear as they argue, despising seeing this side of the trio, hating realizing just how badly it all could’ve gone. One or all of them could be dead, him included. 

“You went for a bath. You left him alone, too --” 

This Baekhyun looks so similar to the one he’d first met, all those days ago -- he is scary and stronger than he should be. He throws white gloves to the ground and spins on his subordinates, one finger pointing at them and the other reaching for his scabbard. 

“He wasn’t alone! You were here. If there’s a scratch on him, you’ll get the same one,” Baekhyun unsheathes the sword and points it at Junmyeon’s throat. Chanyeol can’t help the noise of shock he lets out at the sound, and neither can Sehun. “We have a mission. No harm can come to him.” 

Chanyeol knows he’s talking about the prince’s safety -- a royal’s life is worth much more than his, evidently -- but it doesn’t keep him from stepping forward to be at Baekhyun’s side as though it’ll help anything. 

“Oh, your highness,” Sehun says with genuine relief. “I saw you run earlier.” 

Baekhyun’s sword is put away instantly, his tiff with Junmyeon taking the back seat as he turns to study Chanyeol closely, worriedly. Chanyeol tries not to panic as Baekhyun’s hands reach for him just like they had when they’d first met, settled in the crook of his elbows, anchoring him as Baekhyun stands on tip toes to check every inch of his face and body for injuries. 

“No injuries?” he speaks normally now, the anger and fierce tone completely gone when he faces Chanyeol. It makes the taller ache to reach out and touch him too, to be the person Baekhyun so desperately thinks he is. It’s a bad idea, he knows. 

Sehun and Junmyeon have huddled together too, a united front as Sehun lifts Junmyeon’s chin to make sure there’s no actual cuts on it -- there is peace after the storm. 

For a moment, it seems like things will go back to normal, that they will pack up in the carriage and head to the palace, only a day or two away at this point. 

“You’re okay?” Baekhyun asks again as he loosens his group on Chanyeol’s elbows to fix his own clothes and hair, to make it look like he hadn’t heard screams and sprinted back to the campsite in a rush. 

“No. I ran when Wook chased him. I’m okay.” 

The other guards inch back to the carriage, regret and exhaustion evident in their slouched shoulders. Wook follows and sniffs the ground with his now-red muzzle. Baekhyun touches him once again -- a hand around his wrist that leads him away from the fire and scene of it all, steps and grip soft. 

“That’s good, Chanyeol. Let’s leave. We shouldn’t stay in the area.” 

Sehun and Junmyeon don’t hear it. Baekhyun doesn’t seem to recognize he’s said it at all. But Chanyeol’s stomach churns at his own name, dizzying to be next to a Baekhyun who thinks of him as someone other than the crown prince. 

He realizes two very bad things at this moment. 

The first -- which, he supposes, had always lurked in the back of his mind -- is that he wants to spin with Baekhyun in the moonlight like he’d seen earlier that night, that he wants to act on urges he’d never felt before with Baekhyun, that he wants to hear his name on Baekhyun’s lips over and over and over. 

The second is the odd way the other guards’ hands had shaken when they held their weapons, and the clear amateur technique they possessed. It’s the way Baekhyun had always been so casual, so secretive, so touchy with him. 

He realizes, belatedly, that he might not be the only person masquerading as someone they’re not. 

\-- 

The rolling thunder is ominous, and the sky is a muddy green. Chanyeol feels himself getting anxious at the familiarity of those violent sounds, even as he distracts himself with Baekhyun’s presence. 

The captain still hasn’t made up with the other guards, so he sits petulantly in the seat across from Chanyeol as they trudge on in their journey. It’s been a day of Chanyeol feeling Baekhyun’s eyes scanning him, a day of eating in silence, a day of anxiety over the coming storm. Mostly, it’s been a day of travel with the palace feeling as far as ever. 

“Will it be bad?” Chanyeol speaks up, nodding to the ugly color of the sky and the eerie wind picking up around them. “Should we camp early?” 

“It will be bad,” he confirms it before moving to close the window next to Chanyeol. “Don’t want you to get rained on again, your highness.” 

There’s something unspoken in the way the title is added like an afterthought. He tries not to linger on it, instead focusing on Baekhyun’s hands flexing as he removes his gloves. 

When he leans back to rest on the rough wood behind him, he looks exhausted. Too many nights of sleeping outside or in the carriage, of worrying after the prince’s safety and arguing with his fellow guards -- it’s all taking a toll. 

“You look tired. Shouldn’t we stop and all rest? The guards must be --” 

“They can sleep in the rain.” 

He spits it out in such a way that Chanyeol almost laughs at the sound of the words -- he’s being childish and petty, angry over yesterday’s events even though no one was harmed in the end. It’s ridiculous. 

“I am not the prince, but since you treat me like I am, I should make it clear,” Chanyeol likes the amused way Baekhyun raises his head to stare at him, the way his tongue darts out in confusion, focused on the words Chanyeol holds captive. “I don’t want my guards to sleep in the rain or look so tired -- it can’t be safe for any of us if you are weak.” 

He wants this to be the sole reason for asking to stop, but Chanyeol knows that the twisting in his gut, the primal fear that lashes out every time a loud clap of thunder is heard overhead, might be contributing. He’s trying to rationalize that it will all be okay, that this storm is not like the one that threw him from the boat -- but he can’t focus on anything but his nerves and Baekhyun’s weary expression. 

Maybe Baekhyun notices his shaking leg, or maybe Baekhyun is just more of a pushover than he’d first thought. Maybe Baekhyun wants an excuse to sleep in a bed. 

“Okay,” he says back simply, agreeing as if Chanyeol has any real say in the decisions he makes. “Then we’ll get inside before the storm hits.” 

And they do. Sehun argues when Baekhyun jumps from the carriage and tells the guards what the plan is, their mingling voices littered with complaints and incredulous declarations of inn? 

It’s so weird, so thrilling, to know that Baekhyun listens when he speaks, to know that he has power in this situation after all -- even when, at least once, Baekhyun has thought of him as Chanyeol and not the prince. Perhaps, in Baekhyun’s eyes, he has leverage as a commoner too. 

It seems they’ve been riding through woods that run parallel to a mountain village for days because, within only a few minutes, they’re surrounded by chatter and noise that only a town could bring. 

Chanyeol can’t believe all that he’s seeing -- the mountain behind the village juts up into the sky, mingling with the clouds and shining above everything he sees. The base is entirely green, but the higher the mountain goes, the whiter it gets, painted with snow caps and layered with rock formations. 

Where had they been that kept this so concealed from him -- how hidden were they in the woods? How foolish had he been to not question the distance from the ocean to the mountains? 

The village is so different from the first, and it sets him alight with curiosity, marveling at the spiked, pointed trees that line the dirt path, staring at the large houses lined with logs and painted with the most vibrant hues he’s ever seen. Yellows, reds, oranges -- these are the colors of luxury, he thinks. 

Life on land is beautiful. He doesn’t miss the empty horizon of the ocean or the sparkling blue waves. He could live an eternity without ever seeing it again, if only his entire world was colored with these warm paints and set at the foot of a mountain. The more he watches, the more he itches to step out of the carriage, to experience it all for himself -- he’s lost in this thought when the carriage shakes and Baekhyun climbs in from the now-open door. 

His cheeks are pink from the exertion of jogging alongside the carriage, from the wind that flows down from the mountain’s staggering heights. The top of his cap is slightly wet; it must’ve started drizzling while Chanyeol was admiring everything about this village, dazed. He is so handsome it hurts. 

“Wear this,” Baekhyun closes the door with one hand and grabs for his bag with the other, an overcoat with a hood in his hand only a second later. “It won’t do you any good to get recognized. And it’s raining.” 

He does what he’s told, slipping it on and looking back at Baekhyun in an attempt to mimic the blank, intense stare he’s always on the receiving end of. The guard laughs at it, just a little, and then he’s hopping back onto the ground as the carriage slows to a stop. 

The move to the inn is an odd one -- Baekhyun is so close to him, pressed against his side, and the other two guards sandwich him behind and in front of them. Wook trots alongside, only stopping to sniff the ground and the food stalls and the door to the inn. 

He’s not sure he could breathe without one of them noticing, without Baekhyun looking up at him and saying something teasing, without him losing his mind and finally connecting their lips. 

They settle into two large, connected rooms, and when Sehun offers to go to the market for everyone, Chanyeol finally asks for something he’d been wanting. 

“I want a notebook, if there’s money for it. I want to keep track of all the trees and flowers I see, just in case I get the chance to show my shipmates the pictures some day.” 

“Well, of course,” Sehun nods obediently, but there’s a look in his eyes that tells Chanyeol he doesn’t believe a word of what he says.”Your highness, I’ll leave now.” 

Junmyeon stands to join Sehun on the market outing, claiming he needs to get more food before they set out in the morning, anyway -- but it is all obviously a lie. His unresolved argument with Baekhyun keeps him from staying alone, keeps him from avoiding the worsening rain outside. 

God, it’s childish for this to happen -- but Chanyeol can’t deny that he doesn’t like the thought of him and Baekhyun alone in this room. He jumps at the chance to figure out what lingers in Baekhyun’s stares; he wants to hear his name again. 

Wook lies in front of the fire, sprawled on his back, and lets the warmth dry his white fur. Chanyeol takes off the extra layer of clothes Baekhyun had given him, back in only the scratchy shirt Jongin laid next to his cot. 

“The storm sounds too similar to the one that threw me overboard,” Chanyeol explains it, folding the shirt with nervous hands. “That’s why I wanted to be inside.” 

Baekhyun only looks at him with that same look, like he’s trying to piece together a puzzle in Chanyeol’s features. So he continues, unsure if Baekhyun hates when he talks like this, or if he’s believing it -- if with every word, Chanyeol’s name takes over Sangho’s in his mind. 

“There was a big flood. I don’t remember it because I was too young, but they found all the kids wandering the streets and put us on big boats together -- they stockpiled crops and water purifying machines and pets, and they sent us into the water. Because there was no land left. That’s why I’m so amazed with the flowers. And the land. And just, well, everything.” 

Baekhyun doesn’t stop him, doesn’t change the way he looks at Chanyeol, doesn’t move a muscle. He stares on, beautiful in the fading green light, and it feels like everything inside Chanyeol is spilling out. 

“I don’t know if I miss it or not. I liked being alive, liked working on the ship with the kids I was raised around, but I wanted to live like the stories do. I wanted to be where the books spoke of. I think I’ve found it here, though.” 

It’s been so long since he’d washed ashore, but he’d never cried about the trauma of it all, never screamed about his mistaken identity and the stress of feeling as though everyone thinks he’s lying at all times. Lightning joins the storm now -- it illuminates the room, reflecting gold on the metal parts of Baekhyun’s uniform. 

“My name is Chanyeol. You know that. I think you do.” 

There’s a silence, a loud nothingness, that the tempest outside interrupts. Baekhyun helps to fill the room with his voice, the words he utters crashing loud as thunder into Chanyeol. 

“My name is Baekhyun. I want you to know it.” 

I know, he thinks to himself, rolling and tumbling with an emotion that makes him want to cry. Your name is Baekhyun, and you’ve told me. 

Chanyeol is no idiot -- he sees Baekhyun’s face coming closer to his, feels the way his gaze drops to focus only on his lips. His heart jumps at the thought of Baekhyun’s lips on his, of holding Baekhyun in his arms. 

The wind screams in tandem with the inn door sliding open; it marks the return of the other guards, and the end of this precious moment. Baekhyun turns away to stare at the fire, face scarlet, and Chanyeol finds himself cursing internally with disappointment. 

Nothing so sacred could last for more than a fleeting second, after all. He’s grateful for the journal Sehun hands him, but he wishes it had taken him only a minute longer to return. 

That night, Chanyeol sleeps comfortably for the first time in too long, covered in blankets and using multiple pillows -- they all four lay in a row on the large span of mattresses by the fire, Wook buried under Sehun’s arm in fear of the storm. It’s warm and comfortable -- there’s something boyish and loving about it all. 

He drifts off quickly despite the storm shaking the room and wailing against the building. For tonight, he’ll blame his easy sleep on the way Baekhyun’s warm, ungloved hand finds his arm in the dark, wrapped around him for safekeeping. 

\-- 

They let him walk around the market with them the next morning -- it’s barely dawn, and only the old women are out opening stalls and gossiping. It’s safe, Baekhyun assures him, so he munches on all the snacks he sees, buying far too much from the kind little ladies who coo at the men’s uniforms. 

It’s pleasant to walk freely and laugh loudly, to wear this hood and stand close to Baekhyun for no reason at all. The luxuries of royal life couldn’t compare to this simple happiness, he’s sure -- the old women’s weathered hands and friendly conversation tell him so, and Wook’s bark combined with Baekhyun’s quiet laugh confirm it. 

Leaving the village comes as the sun rises and people start to exit their houses, finally awake for the day and flooding the streets. Now, it seems, is the time they find their carriage and horses to depart for the day. 

Chanyeol doesn’t want to be gone from this vibrant little town or the atmosphere in it, but he follows Baekhyun’s lead with no questions, just as Wook does. _Someone_ has to be loyal -- Junmyeon and Sehun are still sulking over the almost-robbery, keeping to themselves and pouting as if they hadn’t cuddled close to each other and Baekhyun only the night before. 

The gray horses and shabby carriage waits for them outside the inn -- it’s oddly comforting to see it, to sit back on his green cushion with Baekhyun across from him. Wook settles in one cramped corner where neither of them have their feet, pushing their legs together in the middle. 

“Another delay,” Sehun mentions it casually, standing by the window with one of the horse’s harnesses in his hand. “We’re near the bridge, but there’s a parade going on in the capital today. It’ll make the city crowded, and there’s no real way to get in yet.” 

“Better to wait!” Junmyeon adds helpfully. “Just another day, your highness.” 

“Okay,” Chanyeol agrees. He has no way to tell them no -- he doesn’t know the holidays here, doesn’t have any bearings on _where_ he is, after all. “It will be hard to go back to camping, but one more day can’t be too bad.” 

Baekhyun is silent on the matter -- and Chanyeol doesn’t look at him, knowing too well what his face will look like. Blank and tinged with guilt, probably, because they’re lying to him. He’s figured it out now -- it’s all been a lie. 

He’s not angry because, honestly, he’s known it for long enough -- sensed it in every situation they’ve come across. 

But he doesn’t want it to be true because there will be no need to sit with Baekhyun like this anymore, no need to hold each other by the arms, no need to smile and laugh together. 

Junmyeon and Sehun are loud as they ready the horses, even louder when the carriage starts moving and they’re forced to speak over the sound of the uneven road. The day is pretty -- last night’s rain helped more flowers to bloom, and the ground is a shimmery texture that reminds Chanyeol of a calm summer ocean. 

Minutes pass before Chanyeol thinks he has the courage to speak up about it all. It takes everything in him to mention the thoughts that chased him in his dreams and, impossibly, still made sense when he woke up. 

“Is there really a parade today?” 

As expected, Baekhyun only looks at him in response. Something is starting in his face -- an expression Chanyeol has never seen on him; he thinks it might be fear. 

“Was that bridge ever damaged? I’m curious.” 

“I -- I don’t know why you --” 

“They can’t fight with swords. I saw it. They look how _I_ would look in a fight -- shaky and weird and -- they lie to me about where we’re going, about why we can’t make it to the palace each day. They won’t let me see the map.” 

It’s all true, and Baekhyun seems to have realized there’s no way out of this one, no way of smiling or speaking softly that will explain this away. 

“I’m not angry. I’ve known it for longer than I could figure out what it was, but --” Chanyeol stops speaking because he’s nervous to say it out loud, nervous at the way Baekhyun leans forward, his weight noticeably resting on Chanyeol’s knees instead of his own. “You forget to be formal with me, and Sehun says things he shouldn’t to a prince -- you held me by the elbows the first time we met. You -- you called me Chanyeol once.” 

“Tell me what you think you know,” Baekhyun’s voice is almost a whisper, and he looks so unlike the bold man who’d grabbed him from the cot and brought him along for an adventure. “I want to hear it. Please.” 

“I know you’re not a palace guard. None of you are.” 

The weight of his words knocks the air out of Baekhyun, leaving him slumping back pitifully against the side of the carriage. In defeat or shame, Chanyeol can’t tell. 

“And I know -- _I know_ \-- you’re not the prince,” Baekhyun’s back sitting up, hands desperately moving to hold Chanyeol’s in his own, asking for forgiveness and comfort and, possibly, affection. “I know you’re Chanyeol, that all your stories are true, that you look at me the same way I look at you.” 

Chanyeol knows he was right -- all that he’d suspected, all that Baekhyun hadn’t denied, all that Baekhyun says. He’s been ignoring red flags for too many days, focusing on Baekhyun’s lingering stares and pretty features instead of the fact that he was being dragged around in circles with no purpose. 

“We wanted the money. We thought you were the prince, that you’d come with us and we’d only drop you off when the reward money was high enough -- then we’d run --” Baekhyun looks as though he’ll cry, his voice thick with emotion and his hands tightening around Chanyeol’s own limp wrists. “It was a bad idea, but we wanted money, and you were so easy to convince, so kind, so -- ” 

_Money._ They’d only wanted to tease him and keep him in their grasp until it was most beneficial for them. It’s obvious now; they’d been conmen with horrible acting skills the entire time, and Chanyeol’s infatuation had blinded him to almost all of it. 

“I’m sorry, Chanyeol. I lied about being Captain Byun. But I am Byun Baekhyun. That’s my real name, and I know yours, and I -- I’m sorry.” 

There are tears in his eyes, guilt and anger overwhelming when Chanyeol meets them. He wants to cry alongside him, frustrated that he’d been right the entire time, angered that all he wants to do is comfort Baekhyun. 

_Why is there no anger? I should be mad that I was used. I should be screaming and crying that everything has been a lie._

“Then, leave me behind next time we stop.” 

Baekhyun makes a garbled noise, shaking his head, and moves both of their hands together to pull Chanyeol closer to him. It’s a desperate act, but Chanyeol follows it willingly, letting his mind run wild with relief and want and confusion. 

“I’m not the prince. When you take me to the palace, the king will _know_ \-- he will recognize that I’m not Sangho. We look similar, but a parent would know, Baekhyun. I’m of no use to you anymore.” 

Baekhyun looks at him, teary-eyed and shocked, and Chanyeol suddenly remembers why he isn’t mad: even if everything else was a lie, the way those eyes look at him, the way Baekhyun’s hands curl around his -- those things feel real. And he is nothing if not a fool for something real. 

“Just leave me, and I won’t turn you in. I’ll go find a place to live here and I”ll make it work. You’ll never have to go to prison, and I’ll still get to experience this world, and --” 

“I kept you around because I _wanted_ you around. I thought I made it obvious enough how I felt, even from the first day. I didn’t care if you really were the prince. I just wanted you near me.” 

This is a revelation. _I just wanted you near me,_ his mind sings. _I wanted you around._

Maybe he’s so quick to forgive because, above all, he wants to be near Baekhyun, too. Maybe his touches, his laughter, his smiles, they’d been enough to keep him playing along with the shoddy act they were performing. Maybe this new world was fun at times but mostly scary, and maybe Baekhyun felt like home. 

“You just want me around? The others don’t know? You’ve been lying to them, keeping them thinking they’re going to make money off of this, but it’s not true.” 

“They’ll know soon. I’ll tell them. I needed you to know first, but I couldn’t do it, not when I know how I’d lose your trust and your smile and -- I wanted you near me,” Chanyeol stares at their hands, thinking of the nights he’d wanted nothing more than to cross the carriage cab and plant delicate kisses along his knuckles. “It was selfish. And it’s still selfish, but I want you near me.” 

“I want you near me too. Can I want that?” 

Baekhyun nods, a relieved, shaky smile meeting Chanyeol’s gaze -- for the first time, the taller is positive it’s for him and only him, that when Baekhyun’s eyes crinkle and his lips upturn, the word _Chanyeol_ is the only thing going through his mind. And, in this moment of clarity, it all seems simple. 

A stupid plot, three bad actors, and a fake prince who never tried to fake anything -- it’s as silly as all the fairytales he’d ever read. But it’s beautiful, too, just as beautiful as Baekhyun’s surprised noise when he leans forward to kiss him for the first time. 

Baekhyun’s lips are softer than he would’ve imagined, pliant under his and warm, too. Their hands fumble around, each trying to adjust the way their fingers interlock, trying to overcome the way their knees bump together with each lurch forward. 

The carriage makes it harder to meet perfectly in the middle, and Baekhyun falls off Chanyeol’s lips for a moment, a smile pressed to the taller’s cheek as he fumbles forward to climb into his lap. 

This is something Chanyeol had dreamed of too, but he’d never thought it would actually happen, never thought he’d have to stifle a groan as Baekhyun gives one, two, three tiny kisses to the bow of his lips. 

He lets his hands trace the outline of Baekhyun’s waist, allowing them to linger there as their bodies lean further into each other in this rickety carriage, in this unimaginable heat. His lips and body and mind tingle with Baekhyun’s touches, overwhelmed. 

“Good thing the window wasn’t open for _that_ conversation and _this,_ ” Baekhyun thinks he can be funny, even now, so Chanyeol wraps his arms completely around his waist and squeezes. It makes him yelp loudly, laughing -- luckily Chanyeol’s lips find him again and stifle the noises. 

Wook interrupts it all, his sniffling and quiet barking louder than any noises their lips could’ve made against each other. They pull apart to stare at the dog, then each other, then the ceiling of the cab as they both lean back to process all that’s happened. 

“Never lie again. Please. You’re very bad at it.” 

Baekhyun agrees with another kiss, and then he climbs back to his own side of the carriage as if nothing had happened. Chanyeol likes seeing him so ruffled, so pink, so stupidly relieved. 

“No more lying,” he repeats it like a promise, and Wook jumps up to ask for attention, fed up with all the commotion that he wasn’t invited to partake in. “I’m bad at it. Really bad.” 

\-- 

The peace lasts for two days. The palace, Sehun explains, is still hosting too many guests and the streets are full, so they cannot go -- Chanyeol doesn’t even try to hide his disinterest at the words. Junmyeon is the same, constantly convincing him of things that he knows he doesn’t have to try and believe now. 

Only Baekhyun is different. Now, he takes every chance to be in the carriage with Chanyeol, dragging his lips over Chanyeol’s, winding a hand through his hair, and seeing just how quickly he can make the taller man lose his mind. He sits too close around the fire, stares at the trees in the distance with too much protectiveness -- he smells of campfire smoke and Chanyeol’s own clothes, tastes of first touches and skin. 

They go to the lake together to bathe, and Chanyeol feels things he’s only ever thought about, hears Baekhyun say his name over and over just as he’d always wanted, lifts Baekhyun’s body up to throw him further into the water, sprints in the grass to avoid his puckered lips and childish laughs. 

He feels searing heat and scratching nails and exhaustion beyond belief. He sees the stars reflected in Baekhyun’s eyes, hears every ballad ever written in the tone of Baekhyun’s voice. He thinks he has figured something out about the things from stories -- first love, first kiss, first body to hold him so close. These days are paradise. 

They return to the campsite and stay feet apart, even though Chanyeol feels Baekhyun’s eyes blazing across the fire in a most obvious way. He burns along with it, avoiding Sehun and Junmyeon’s looks, avoiding the urge to hold Baekhyun’s hand in front of others. 

The day when Chanyeol is woken up by slender hands running up and down his side gently, ticklish and still new, that it happens. They are whispering to each other about the breakfast Sehun has made -- Chanyeol wants Baekhyun to tell them about it all, please -- and Baekhyun consoles him with a hand on the cheek, trying to explain why he’s too nervous. 

“I’m up,” Chanyeol says finally, accepting the defeat that comes with Baekhyun’s cowardice. “Let’s eat.” 

Baekhyun just barely kisses him. His lips ghost over Chanyeol’s, twitching with the closeness, and only closing after a lifetime of exchanged breaths, of waiting. Junmyeon sees. 

“Don’t touch him!” 

Baekhyun is dragged from the carriage and thrown to the ground -- he hits the dirt harshly, and the noise he lets out is a cry of pure pain. Sehun’s there in an instant, and so is Chanyeol, jumping up and out of the carriage to kneel on the ground next to him. 

“What the hell is wrong with you? You can’t kiss the prince; you can’t jeopardize this all. What the _fuck_ have you done? What’s gotten into you? Do you care about his safety -- _our safety?_ We’re laying low. This is not laying low.” 

“Hey,” Sehun’s behind Junmyeon, a hand wrapped around his waist to keep him from lurching forward again. “Calm down. You saw wrong. He wouldn’t.” 

“Don’t _touch_ me! He did!” Junmyeon pushes Sehun away too, angry, and then Chanyeol feels Junmyeon’s hands on his shoulders, pulling him away from Baekhyun harshly. He hates the way it feels to be forcibly separated, to be thrown away when their affection is revealed. 

“Your highness, I’m sorry. I apologize on his behalf, we will kick him off the mission completely, we’ll --” 

“I am not the prince. I’ve told you time and time again I’m not the prince. Don’t touch him ever again.” 

This sparks something scary in both Junmyeon and Sehun. They have always put up with his nonsense talk, with the way he defends his true identity, and now with the way he steps in front of Baekhyun. It seems like they’re fed up. 

“You’re fucking crazy. I knew it. You think he’s on your side?” 

Baekhyun is up again but only for a moment -- the next he’s running forward to attack Junmyeon head on, a fist colliding with Junmyeon’s cheek. It sounds painful for both, but Chanyeol doesn’t have time to dwell on the loud sound it produces because, directly in front of him, Junmyeon and Baekhyun are attacking each other. 

The scene is utter chaos -- Chanyeol can’t think clearly, jumping in between the fists and screaming, trying to shield Baekhyun from Junmyeon and his arguably stronger hits. It feels as though someone is hitting him repeatedly with a rock in the back of the head, and he screams against the pain as he collects Baekhyun into his arms. 

“You’re really just a lunatic, aren’t you? You’re not the prince; you’re a lookalike. Baekhyun picked you up because he wanted a new whore, because he wanted someone to impress and lie to, to use for money and --” 

Sehun stops him from saying more, his voice loud and angry when he speaks over Junmyeon: “Let him talk, let him talk -- please.” 

Baekhyun is shaking in Chanyeol’s arms -- he might be crying, but Chanyeol can’t see, not when Sehun has stepped forward and is staring at him closely, angrily. Chanyeol shakes too. 

“I’m not the prince, I told you from the beginning -- and you’re not guards. You’re liars, too. You’re all selfish. Only Baekhyun told me.” 

Sehun boils too, it seems. 

“He told you because he wanted to fuck you. It’s not that complicated. He wanted the money, too,” Sehun turned him around and made him lose his grip on Baekhyun -- the tall man’s finger is jabbed directly into Chanyeol’s chest and it aches like hell. “It doesn’t make him better than us because he caved when you flirted back -- _god damnit,_ Baekhyun, why did you let this go on for so long? How long?” 

“Don’t answer. I don’t want to know,” Junmyeon pulls Sehun from Chanyeol with his free hand -- the other holds his bruising cheek. “Leave, Baekhyun.” 

It’s hard to argue with them when it’s already come to this -- Baekhyun’s shoulders shake as he grabs his bag and Chanyeol’s hand, as they stand at the edge of the campsite in shame. 

Chanyeol hates that he’s brought this upon the trio, that it’s him who ruined it all, but he’s not done anything wrong, so he stands tall and looks on with a trembling lip as the other two men stare them down. 

It hurts, it all hurts, and he hates the way Sehun pulls his sword out -- one last threat, he supposes. Baekhyun shakes next to him, shaking his head, and Chanyeol tries to reach out to calm him -- but then Junmyeon is screaming bloody murder, his head tilted to see beyond their huddled forms. 

“Run!” 

It’s then that he makes the connection -- Sehun’s drawn sword, Junmyeon’s look of horror to the woods behind them, the erratic sounds of hooves in the distance that he’d mistaken for his own heart. He’s too scared to look, frozen in place, but Baekhyun is turning to see, turning to pull Chanyeol with him as they run for the campsite. 

Sehun moves before Chanyeol fully comprehends the situation; he’s always been the horse guy, after all. He’s unlatching the bridle and harness from the carriage, hands shaky as Baekhyun tries to help him, tears streaming down his face. Chanyeol can’t breathe, but then Junmyeon pushes him forward and lifts him to sit on one of the gray horses. 

They’re fleeing from the campsite so suddenly -- Baekhyun’s warmth is behind him in an instant, bumping the horse with his heels and catapulting them forward. Chanyeol turns, ignoring the heavy breathing and snotty crying in his ear, to see Sehun and Junmyeon mount the second horse, Wook hot on their tail as they gallop to the right of the campsite. They’re gone in less than a second, quickly replaced by three more riders in familiar purple uniforms. 

They are separated. They are in a horseback chase with unknown riders, Chanyeol has never been on a horse, and Baekhyun is crying behind him. 

“It’s the palace guards, I know it,” Baekhyun weeps, voice scratchy and filled with resentment. “The innkeeper in the village near the mountains, she made a comment to me, but I thought we were far enough away, I didn’t know. They -- they probably think we kidnapped you.” 

“What about Sehun and Junmyeon?” Chanyeol asks it even though he’s worried about the answer. Baekhyun makes their horse veer to the left suddenly, speeding up to a pace that makes Chanyeol close his eyes, fearful and dizzy. “They saved us.” 

Baekhyun’s stagnant silence reminds him that, even now, his knowing their names had been something he’d kept only for himself -- it’s almost comical for this secret to come out right now. 

“I know they did. Fuck, I _know_ they did. They turned, didn’t they? We probably split them up. It’ll be okay,” Baekhyun sounds more controlled now, and Chanyeol knows he’s trying to act tough and strong in this moment. He finds Baekhyun’s hand on the reign and squeezes. “We’ve been in chases like this before. It will be okay.” 

Chanyeol isn’t sure if Baekhyun says it to himself or for the world to hear, but he doesn’t have time to ponder it all too much -- only a second later, he cuts behind a rock formation in the trees and brings the horse to a screeching halt. 

“I know where we are. There’s a beach and caves further down. We can rest. We’ll be okay.” 

At Baekhyun’s cue, they jump off and sprint into the dense foliage, headed down a rather steep hill that Baekhyun takes in stride. The ground turns from packed dirt to shifting brown sand, and it makes everything infinitely harder to accomplish. 

After an eternity of dragging themselves through the sand, after an endless, sun-filled stretch of beach, Baekhyun pulls them into a cave and out of danger, if only for a moment. 

They breathe heavy, then not at all, scared of making noise and alerting anyone nearby. Silently, Chanyeol checks Baekhyun’s face for injuries, and Baekhyun squeezes his hand one, two, three times, each one conveying a similar thought: I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry. 

“It will be okay,” Chanyeol says, even if he’s not sure he believes it, even if it gets harder to see the sparkle in Baekhyun’s eyes when they are in the dark, even if he aches with worry and fear and an intense protectiveness. “It will be okay.” 

When they regain some semblance of reality, Baekhyun kisses him harder than ever, desperate and heartbroken and scared, and Chanyeol takes it in stride, letting his hands be softer than anything Baekhyun has ever wanted. He lies down on Chanyeol’s chest in the dark cave, letting the sand cushion the both of them, and cries for his friends and his belongings and his sanity. 

“We left everything,” he stutters in a breath on Chanyeol’s chest before coughing the air back out. “I made you leave everything. I’m sorry.” 

Chanyeol murmurs back that it’s all okay, mind whirling with the familiarity of this sand on his back, with the same feeling of dread that had filled him the afternoon he’d washed ashore. 

“My notebook had drawings of Wook in it. It had our running bank account and -- it had notes from them. Ones I’ve kept for a long time. And you left your notebook -- you’d only just gotten it, how will you keep track of the plants you see?” 

He cries over the tiny things, the things that can easily be replaced, and Chanyeol knows he’s really crying for the way he’d fought with his closest friends only moments before being separated. He knows Baekhyun cries because this is not how life is supposed to go, and it’s unfair. 

“I’m sorry for bringing you with me. I should’ve left you in the doctor’s house, I should’ve let you live a normal life. I shouldn’t have done any of this.” 

“If it’s with you, this can be a new normal. We can find them again. We can get new notebooks and clothes. It will be okay.” 

\-- 

It takes days, but they are okay. The first few, they camp and eat what fish they can, moving further and further down the beach everytime the sun sets beyond the wide ocean. Eventually, they reach something that almost feels like civilization, and there’s an entirely new plan formed. 

“We’ll run away,” Chanyeol says it confidently, almost happily -- for the first time since he came ashore, he feels like this is something he knows well. “I can sail. We can make it to a neighboring island, we can wait it out -- we’ll come back when the prince is found. You know where the others hide out, don’t you?” 

Baekhyun looks scared to do anything like this, but Chanyeol is sure in his abilities to pull this off, to make life okay, even if it’s all turned from a fairytale to a pirate adventure, even if his affection for Baekhyun is the only stable thing they have to go off of. 

“You’re stupid for staying with me when this is what I bring to your life.” 

“Adventure? Kisses?” he tries to lighten the mood, and it leaves Baekhyun groaning at his words, pink from his newly-acquired sunburn and maybe something else. “It will be okay.” 

They steal a boat that night -- it’s harder than Chanyeol thought it could ever be, as the owner doesn’t sleep very far away from it, as Baekhyun is completely inexperienced with how to navigate and control it, but there’s something awe-inspiring about everything that happens when they finally pull it off and leave the dock. 

The sun rises and they’re on the open ocean -- with two months’ provisions packed below deck -- and Chanyeol thinks he might’ve missed the water, even just a little. They stand there, two fugitives in an open sea, and know there will be a tiny family waiting for their return when they can make it back. 

Baekhyun kisses him and tastes like sea salt, like the world he’d come from and might be headed back to, like the promise of a new future with at least a little adventure in it. Baekhyun feels like home. 


End file.
